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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340268">Hush, Hush</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueapplesour/pseuds/blueapplesour'>blueapplesour</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:20:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueapplesour/pseuds/blueapplesour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows they have to be...discreet isn’t even the word. Invisible, imperceptible, practically non-existent. Every second together accounted for with a plausible excuse, every glance averted, any references to the small life they’re building together in the jumbled threads on the back of the grand tapestry that is the new empire quietly redacted. </p><p>or</p><p>One does not simply ignore Ferdinand von Aegir</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hush, Hush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The party guests are retiring in singles and groups, each one snuffing out a little of the evening’s cheer and brightness with their departure like stars dimmed one by one. </p><p>As far as Ferdinand is concerned, the whole courtyard can’t black out fast enough. The majority of the guests have already made their excuses, leaving the burden of carrying on conversation with the dozen-odd stragglers too in their cups to leave to the prime minister and the wine. They lean on trees and trellises strung up with sigil-lit glow and shining curls of ribbon in red and gold, singing off-key songs of ancestral glory. There are careless footprints in the flower beds and saints, by the sound of it, someone is getting sick all over Ferdinand’s favorite bush.   </p><p>No matter how many people leave, the servants keep bringing libations with grim determination, and every time Ferdinand tries to motion to cut the everyone off, one of the...guests...demands his attention and he has to swiftly cover the movement with an adjustment of his cravat. </p><p>Hubert, naturally, made his excuses as soon as Edelgard did, and that irritation continues to chafe, even as he compliments a Gloucester cousin on her coiffure, then begs off “just one more” dance for the sole reason that the musicians are playing a jarring tempo in a vain but valiant effort to move the celebration along. The man had been away for two weeks, very nearly two weeks and a <i>day</i>, appearing tonight at Edelgard’s side as if it were perfectly ordinary and required no further attention to Ferdinand than a pleasant and vague greeting and a few pointed questions about the security of an outdoor gathering. Hubert gave him <i>nothing</i>, no hint of a reaction when Ferdinand pulled back his hair on the pretext of the stickiness of the Garland Moon air, no comment when Ferdinand mentioned that it was good to see him again. Even the glass of smoked whiskey Ferdinand thoughtfully provided was not met with thanks but a jerk of the chin, silently instructing him to go back to his job of charming former nobles into forgetting their disgraced status. </p><p>Even now his cheeks sting, though he is by far the least red-faced of the revelers. </p><p>He knows they have to be...discreet isn’t even the word. Invisible, imperceptible, practically non-existent. Every second together accounted for with a plausible excuse, every glance averted, any references to the small life they’re building together in the jumbled threads on the back of the grand tapestry that is the new empire quietly redacted. </p><p>Their new world is in its infancy, and things in the cradle are vulnerable. Hubert’s work makes dangerous enemies who would salivate to know there is a place where the emperor’s shadow bleeds human after all. These are facts, and Ferdinand understands. </p><p>Still. How glorious it would have been to have spent the evening on Hubert’s arm proudly introducing his lover, Hubert von Vestra, instead of taking on the bulk of the conversation and occasionally answering questions that the (handsomely) ghoulish man behind the emperor was the minister of the imperial household, Hubert von Vestra. How wonderful it would be to answer Dorothea’s letters about her life as queen consort in Brigid with his own joy and not anecdotes about his horses and dull court gossip.</p><p>Even though Ferdinand understands that Hubert is, on a reasonable level, entirely correct in his assessment, there is a part of him that bruises every time Hubert’s eyes pass over him with no affection, every time a discreet touch is rebuffed. </p><p>Ferdinand was not built for discretion, and Hubert is by far the better actor. </p><p>So good, in fact, Ferdinand fears a time will come that he won’t be acting and all, and Ferdinand won’t be able to tell the difference. </p><p>The cousin tries to grab him again as he turns to leave, stomach slightly sour. He pacifies her with a smile and tells her and her entourage to please continue to enjoy the emperor’s hospitality as long as they like. He makes a mental note to pay the musicians double the gold they planned, they were earning it. </p><p>He returns to his room, only to notice the balcony doors open and a slightly darker shape in the night beyond. Looming rather attractively, really.</p><p>“I thought you’d never get done nattering with those drunkards.” </p><p><i>Hubert</i> has the nerve to sound put out. Ferdinand very nearly stepped in <i>vomit</i>.</p><p>“Watching and waiting up for me, then?” He edges past Hubert, pressing his lips resolutely together to avoid shivering at the feel of his back against Hubert’s chest (he is still annoyed, really he is), and looks down at the remains of the party. He had assumed that his departure would be a hint, but someone has popped a new bottle of something spraying like a rain shower under the moonlight and the wind carries cheers and declarations and more of the steadfastly awful music.   </p><p>They will get triple. And if Edelgard complains, he will pay them out of his salary. Hubert steps close, one hand sliding down his back, voice low smoke in his ear. </p><p>“You were down there long enough. What, someone catch your fancy?” Quiet as his voice is, he drawls the word, and it catches in Ferdinand’s chest.</p><p>Hubert is...jealous. And even with the ridiculous tower of cakes designed to resemble the Garland Moon’s flower wreaths, that validation is by far the most delicious treat Ferdinand has had today. Possibly ever. </p><p>“Someone did, as a matter of fact.” Ferdinand keeps his voice equally soft, mindful of those still below. “But he ignored me all night...”</p><p>“Ferdinand...” Hubert’s hand reaches for his, no doubt to pull him back inside. Ferdinand takes it, and holds fast. Hubert may be taller, but he has nothing on a lancer’s grip.</p><p>“Ignored me, when all I could think about the entire time he was there was how much I wanted his cock in my mouth.”</p><p>Hubert hisses at that and starts to step forward, but Ferdinand holds him firm as laughter bubbles up from below. He likes Hubert a little wild-eyed, a little unsure. If he cannot have the open declarations of love, the grand courtship and poetry and engagement balls, he can have this: a side of Hubert no one else is privileged to see. </p><p>Ferdinand drops to his knees and makes short work of Hubert’s trouser lacings. The man is already half hard, another private victory, and Ferdinand presses a kiss to the pale inside of his thigh, feels the slight answering shiver against his lips. </p><p>“Ferdinand.” Hubert’s voice is an urgent whisper, a half-order Ferdinand cheerfully ignores.  </p><p>“Now we will have to be, oh what is that word you like? Discreet. We are not so far above the party you know, they can hear if you’re too loud.” </p><p>Ferdinand is not worried about being spotted. To anyone below it will simply look like a solitary figure enjoying the night air, if they can even parse Hubert’s dark shape and hair in the shadows of the overhang. Certainly no one below knows whose room it is. He doubts anyone still there is even capable of correctly identifying a single balcony when their vision is no doubt suggesting that there are two or three in various architectural configurations.</p><p>Therefore it is with extreme confidence that he slips Hubert’s cock free of confinement, stroking his length and sliding a finger across the glistening tip. Hubert’s breath chokes and one of his hands comes to rest in Ferdinand’s hair,with  just enough tension to sting. Ferdinand has mastered this, in the same way he mastered weapons and poetry: a zeal for learning and rigorous practice.  </p><p>Hubert lovingly mocks his dedication when he’s not being undone by the rewards of it.</p><p>When he’s teased himself quite enough, never mind Hubert, sucking air and grinding teeth above him, Ferdinand swallows him, taking him until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base. He’s missed this, the sharp taste and musky scent of him. He’s missed being taken apart by want.  </p><p>The hand in his hair comes down, gloved thumb kissing Ferdinand’s eyelid and ghosting over his cheek in silent praise that sets his heart aflame. Hubert’s other hand reaches back to brace himself on the balcony as he thrusts into Ferdinand’s pliant mouth.  </p><p>Hubert’s shirt and jacket are covering too much of him, and Ferdinand slides a hand up to feel the quiver of Hubert’s stomach muscles, the slight sweat on his skin. He pulls back and laps at just the tip, smiling at Hubert’s bitten-back curse. Hubert, as unaffected as he often pretends to be, is not going to last.</p><p>Ferdinand wants to hear his name echoing over the courtyard, telling everyone who has claimed him. He isn’t going to get it, but the least he can do is make Hubert want it, too, and he sets his mouth back to breaking him. His lover is now backed against the railing, thighs shaking, hand against his mouth, and looking up through his lashes Ferdinand sees him bite down on his palm, stoppering every dark sound of pleasure. He hopes Hubert’s teeth shred his glove, that it becomes a banner and reminder that one does not simply <i>ignore</i> Ferdinand von Aegir, no matter what one’s feelings on discretion are.  </p><p>There is a muffled moan that sounds like his name as Hubert doubles forward, one hand still acting as a gag, the other grabbing Ferdinand’s hair at the root and yanking him close as he spills into his mouth, and Ferdinand swallows it all.</p><p>For a moment all he can hear is heartbeat and panting, and he licks his lips to savor what remains. Hubert always looks slightly ridiculous after he comes, some mix of bemusement and concern Ferdinand can’t quite figure out, but he takes pride in it all the same.</p><p>With as much grace as he can manage, Ferdinand rises to his feet. “Now,” he says, perhaps with a little more heat than he intended; his blood is up, and he has Hubert momentarily stupid, “I would like an apology.” </p><p>But he’s overplayed his hand; the dazed look of the lovesick has been replaced by the gleam of the predator. Hubert takes both his hands walks him backwards into the bedroom, kicking the balcony door shut and finally blocking the ridiculous, endless, garden-wrecking party from Ferdinand’s grateful ears. </p><p>“I am not going to apologize,” Hubert says, pushing Ferdinand back onto the bed and straddling him. Ferdinand’s heart seizes in a want so powerful he almost misses the next words. “But give me a moment, and I will tell you how much I love you as I fuck you until you cry.” </p><p>A fair answer, Ferdinand decides in a last coherent thought as Hubert proceeds to make good on his statement. Perhaps he will never get the flowers, the dramatic proposal, the hour-long ode to his eyes that a childhood of stories and operas have trained him to want. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.</p><p>Still.</p><p>“Do you think it will be this way forever?” He murmurs later against Hubert’s throat, when they are sweaty and sated and Ferdinand has been marked with fingers and lips and teeth thoroughly enough to sate his doubts, at least until his traitorous skin begins to heal.</p><p>“I hope not,” Hubert replies, fingers lazily curling in the hair falling over Ferdinand’s shoulder.</p><p>“Do you now? I would have thought you would prefer eternal secrecy. You do like secrets.” It’s pointed and true, and Hubert sighs.</p><p>“Ferdinand, if I had the choice between this and letting you and Dorothea sing some ridiculous operatic duet dedicated to our love at our wedding, believe me, I would gladly undergo the humiliation of the later. You do not enjoy being hidden away, ergo, I do not enjoy hiding you. Much as I do like my secrets.” He punctuates the statement with a kiss dropped on Ferdinand’s head, almost painful in its sweetness.</p><p>
  <i>Our wedding.</i>
</p><p>Ferdinand props himself up with a smile so large it aches. </p><p>“Why Hubert, I don’t like that at all.” He brushes his fingers against the questioning curve of his lover’s mouth. “If anyone will be singing a duet at our wedding, it will be the two of us, though of course Dorothea is welcome to provide her own input. I shall start composing right away.”</p><p>Hubert squeezes his eyes shut with a groan.“The security of the empire could take years...”</p><p>Ferdinand tucks himself back against Hubert’s side, his steady breaths a comfort.“Then it shall be a very, very long opera. Please do not worry, I will keep your range in mind.”</p><p>“When have you even heard me...?”</p><p>But Ferdinand doesn’t answer, already being lulled into sleep by the promise that one day the endless, torturous silence would be replaced by song.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apparently I can't write porn without two pages of background feelings and a gratuitous reference to the Ferdibert duet.</p><p>Twitter: blueapplesour</p></blockquote></div></div>
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